Election Eve
by Olivia Ballard
Summary: Just an election oneshot that I wrote while going crazy with anxiety. Enjoy! So, I'm in mourning, but I'm just gonna leave this up and wonder how they hell we got here.
1. Chapter 1

She hadn't wanted to join the campaign, but as Evelyn reminded her time and time again, it was her civic duty.

"Beside," Evelyn said, dragging a towel along a freshly washed plate, "it could be fun." She glanced behind her to where Ginny sat, pushing around the ice cream she'd begged for only fifteen minutes before. "Ooh," she gasped, "what if you meet Beyoncé?"

"Beyoncé went to Cleveland," Ginny shoved her bowl away, her appetite decidedly lost at the thought of traveling across the country and what? Giving a speech to a bunch of people who already knew better than to vote for a crazy man? Talking about an election that just about everyone was done dealing with? "They actually want me in Pennsylvania."

"Well," reaching over, Evelyn plucked the spoon from Ginny's discarded dessert, "you've never been to Philly before."

"Because I'm so big into sight seeing?"

Evelyn walked over to the fridge, considering the pie she'd made for Blip, the very one she'd slaved over for hours that no one tasted because Ginny had wanted to talk. Then again, these conversations were doing wonders on Evelyn's waistline. Besides, if she saved it for after everyone went to sleep, she wouldn't have to share.

"If you love Hillary so much, why don't you go?"

Evelyn hopped up onto the table, her legs swinging and her tongue sweeping over her teeth. "Blip and I are actually volunteering election day. The boys don't have school, so we're making it a family event."

Ginny couldn't help her answering smile, because of course they would. If she had a family like Evelyn's, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from getting excited for things as regular as a Tuesday and polling locations.

"I guess it might be cool to see the Obamas again."

Evelyn was proud of the way she kept herself composed. It was impossible to live the way she did, with Blip and the boys adding to the general chaos of life, without being able to remain calm. But, and if Ginny ever mentioned it again she would deny it with vehemence that very few could rival, Evelyn swiveled around, her eyes wide and ice cream flying from her mouth.

"You've met the Obamas?!" She cried, swiping the back of her hand along her mouth and nudging her foot against Ginny's thigh. "And you've never thought to mention it?"

"They were in the stand my first MLB game." Ginny cocked a perfectly coiffed eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure Blip got a picture with them, too."

"And. Where. Was. I?" Evelyn wailed, falling against the table and flinging an arm over her face. "I go to every game, I've got imprints on my _ass_ from bleachers and stadium seats and yet when the Queen and King of the freaking universe show up to watch you pitch I was…"

"At home with a massive case of food poisoning." Ginny nodded, remembering the last time she'd seen her friend this shaken, her hair pulled into a ponytail, her cheeks flushed and her stomach launching a mass mutiny. "And yes, Michelle was a revelation and yes, I do think the whole salt and pepper look works on Barack."

"Predilection for older men notwithstanding, I cannot believe I missed that."

"Missed what?" Blip slid into the room, planting a quick kiss on Evelyn's cheek before bumping his fist against Ginny's shoulder. Evelyn glowered over at him, murder gleaming in her eyes as he pulled the leftovers of her ice cream over to him.

"You apparently meeting the President of the United States!"

Blip swiveled around, his hands flying up as he frowned. "What the shit, Ginny?"

"I should be asking you that," Evelyn cried, pushing herself up to her full five-foot three inches. "Blip Matthew Sanders, you are in so much trouble!"

"And that's my cue," Ginny slid out from her chair, giving the glaring couple one last parting smile before heading over to the door.

"I'm just saying," Ginny could just hear Evelyn say, "if you think you'll be sleeping in my bed – "

"Your bed?"

" _My_ bed after you kept me from meeting Michelle Obama, Michelle freaking Obama, you are sorely mistaken."

"Baby," Blip exclaimed, "it's not even that big of a deal." Ginny let the door swing shut, trying not to laugh. She hadn't meant to get Blip in trouble, but then again, she'd be pretty damn pissed if she'd missed out on what had been an incredible meeting.

Evelyn's words bounced around Ginny's head the rest of the night as she lay in bed, her gaze trained to the ceiling and her fingers dancing around one another. She was a _ball player_. She wasn't a politician and she damn well didn't want to be trotted out like a show pony, whether it be for her club managers, Drake at his thirty-first birthday or the entire democratic party.

Still, the next morning she found herself on a private jet to Philadelphia, courtesy of a bunch of men in suits that couldn't seem to meet her gaze. The one with the particularly severe expression did ask for her autograph, so that was something.

And her speech wasn't terrible, as far as speeches went. It wasn't her first, and it wouldn't be her last, but it was the first time she stood in front of thousands and was expected to do nothing but speak. No baseball cap to hide under, no mound to protect her, not ball in her hand to ground her.

She gripped the podium, both bolstered and terrified by the strength around her, the Obamas and the Clintons and so much greatness passing along some of their confidence to her.

"Hey," she gave the crowd of thousands a quick wave and a weak smile. "I'm Ginny Baker, but you probably already know that."

"We love you, Ginny," someone hollered, and Ginny felt some of the tension in her shoulders unfurl.

"I love you, too," she smiled, ducking her head for one quick moment. There were just so many camera, so many people, and even more, millions, watching from their homes. But, she needed to focus.

She sucked in a breath. "I want to say as a women of color, it's a no brainer not to vote for Trump." Her voice wavered, just for a moment, but then there was a hand brushing against her side and Michelle was giving her that smile that made a country fall in love with its First Family. "He's racist, misogynistic, and quite frankly, an idiot." She turned quickly, feeling her face warm at the chuckle that passed through the crowd. "I'm sorry, am I allowed to say that?"

President Obama shrugged, his expression mischievous. "Someone should."

Twisting back around, Ginny bit back a grin. "I want to say all that, and I have, but, that's only half true. As a women of color, I know that Donald Trump is not the man I would ever want to call my President. But if I claimed that was my only reason for being here today and for supporting this campaign, well, it would be doing you all a disservice. Because even though Donald Trump is everything this country shouldn't want, it doesn't take away from the fact that the only person I believe is right for the job is the woman we're all here for."

She waited, for the cheers to die away, for the cameras to stop flickering, for the sharp sting of the cool late air to remind her that this was real. That what she said mattered. That even though she would never understand what it meant to be the leader of the free world, she shared something with Hillary Clinton that few would ever experience. They were making history, changing the world to fit what she believed it needed.

"You know, women are strong. We're smart and we're brave and we're tough. Whether it's stepping onto a diamond and showing every little girl out there that they can do whatever they put there mind to, or proving that you don't need a set of balls to make some of the toughest decisions in the world for the greatest country in the world, women are incredibly strong. And that strength, it can be passed on. My generation, the one coming up, the one before mine, we can all learn from Secretary Clinton. She's dedicated her life to making things better for people, to helping, and if that's not what we want to teach young men and women, then I don't know what is." She smacked at the sheet of hair that had managed to slip from her bun. "But again, what do I know. I'm baseball player, not a politician or a public speaker really." She exhaled, and suddenly her chest felt lighter. "So, I'll give the microphone to people who actually know what they're talking about."

She grinned, gave them one last wave, and then stood to the side for another hour, goosebumps dancing across her skin and hair whipping into her face. And she was right, for the most part. The President, the First Lady, Secretary Clinton, their speeches brought the crowd to a roar, insighting a wave of passion in everyone willing to accept that they had a voice and needed to use it. And when she hugged them each in turn, she had one of those moments. Like when she won a game with her team and felt like she was part of something bigger, something greater than just her.

And when the night was over and she was ushered out with those same men who'd sat stoically beside her on the plane, she was glad she did it. Evelyn was right, but then again, when wasn't she.

 ** _…_**

"Coming," she called, hiking up her pajama shorts as someone knocked before jogging over to the door. She would return to San Diego in the morning, but for now she had nothing to do but order hotel room service, and try and find something to watch on TV. There was another bang against the door, enough to make it rattle on it's hinges. "God, I'm coming."

She flung the door open, feeling her mouth curl into a smile before she had the chance to stop it, as if she'd even want to.

"You're not room service."

Mike brushed past her, a six-pack in one hand and a paper bag in the other. "Disappointed?"

"Depends on what's in the bag."

He jerked his chin over to the table, and even though she was a twenty-three year old who was trying to be taken seriously on the world stage, she skipped over, a tremor going through her when she was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. "Chinese?"

"Some place that Oscar recommended, said it would be the best beef chow fun we've ever tasted."

"I'll be the judge of that," she leapt onto the table, opening one of the containers and taking a whiff. Mike leaned into her, his hand just to the side of her thigh, his face so achingly close it was making it hard to concentrate. She speared a piece of chicken, taking a bit and smirking when he nipped the rest from her fork. "So, what're you doing here?"

"Wanted to hear your speech."

"And so you crossed state lines?"

He slid between her legs, taking the container from her hand and setting it down beside her. "Well, it's not like you told me you would be leaving."

"Didn't see the point," her hands ghosted along his neck, winding together as he shifted in closer. "I was supposed to be back tomorrow."

He hummed, his breath tickling her upper lip. "Imagine my surprise when I woke up and found my bed empty –"

" – It was hardly empty if you were in it – "

" – And now you're saying that I was expected to get any sleep with my girlfriend still a million miles away."

"It's only three thousand miles and I'm sure you and your hand would have worked it out." She was hoisted up and into him before her smirk could settle into place, a surprised squeal escaping through her lips before his mouth was on hers. He walked them forward, looking smug once he dropped her to the bed, towering over her with an eyebrow arched. She sat up, lifting her shirt over her head and sending it plunging to the floor, issuing her own challenge. "Well," she breathed, her heart beating out a pattern that reminded her of a riot, "you gonna let me make it up to you?"

 _ **...**_

She sat on top of him, a thigh on either side of his waist and his frustration mounting as she stared down at him. "Wait," she said, ignoring the way he squirmed and his obvious discomfort. "You're a _republican_?"

"Gin," he gritted out, his thumb stroking over her breast, trying to get her back on task, "you think we can save this conversation for later?"

"I just," she flicked her hair over her shoulder, swatting at his hand when it tried to slip between her legs, "it feels like that's the type of thing I should know about you."

Propping himself up on his forearms, he let out a low groan. "It's not like I give speeches at rallies or broadcast my political views, Rookie. And I definitely don't talk about it in bed."

"Course you don't," she bent, catching his lips in a quick kiss that seemed to ease his irritation. "You'd scare the girl away."

"You're still here."

"I was looking for a fixer upper when I found you." He pinched her side and she laughed, the peal of her giggles going through him like a drug. "Come on, a republican?"

"Fine," he nudged her off, rolling onto his side and wishing he could stay annoyed with her, even with those wide hazel eyes staring up at him, filled with laughter and that devilish gleam he'd come to love. "I guess I'm more of a libertarian? I think everyone should be able to do whatever they Goddamn want and the government can screw themselves, but I'd rather not have to give up half my paycheck to taxes. Again, the same principle applies."

"That the government can screw themselves?"

"Exactly," he glanced down, at her neck, peppered with the beginnings of the bruises he'd left behind before she'd gotten into all this political talk. And her breasts, naked and soft and, fuck, the way she licked her lips, slow and deliberate and enough to drive his aging heart into overdrive. "And with all this talk of screwing…"

"Just one last question."

He threw himself back, digging the heel of his palm into his eyes. "Baker," he ground out, "you're killing me here."

"Just," she tucked her head into the hollow of his neck, the scent of her shampoo wafting up and tickling his nose, "who are you going to vote for?"

"I don't think you're supposed to ask me that."

"And yet…" She let her voice trail off, her foot coasting along the length of his calf, her mouth finding that spot behind his ear that made him see stars. "I don't think I can sleep with a Trump supporter." She murmured. "Nothing personal, but I'm just not sure if bad decisions aren't transmittable."

She bit down on his earlobe, and with that his restraint snapped and suddenly she was underneath him, his arms on either side of her head and his lips hovering over hers. "I'm insulted, Baker. I'm not an idiot, of course I'm voting for the Hill." She grinned, even as he kissed her, seizing her bottom lip between his teeth and pulling. "But if you don't mind, I'm done talking about it. Any complaints?"

"No." She purred, the way a woman who knows she's got him right where she wants him does. "Not a one."


	2. Chapter 2

"Someone needs to tell her."

"She already knows." Mike glanced up from his phone, trying not to absorb the stricken look on Blip's face. Trying not to let the way Evelyn clutched her sons affect him, even though each silent tear streaming down her cheeks and into their hair felt like a punch to the gut. He couldn't be there for everyone, no matter how much he might want to, and for right now, Ginny would need him the most.

"You don't know that," he stood, his knees creaking with the motion, and reached for his car keys. I'll be right back, she'd said, casting a worried glance over to the screen as it had projected the first round of numbers for the night. Don't finish all the beer, Old Man. She'd smiled, and even though uncertainty radiated from her with every step, she had thought this would be okay. She'd made him believe that this would be okay.

She wasn't picking up her phone, and he hadn't seen her in hours.

"Maybe...maybe she hasn't heard yet," he made for the door, determined to be the one to break the bad news. That the sky was falling, that the world was going up in flames, fire and brimstone making its way to earth earlier than any of them had planned. "I'm going to go find her."

Blip's fist balled, and suddenly he didn't know what to do with his anger. "Stop," he screamed, hurling her beer bottle down and making the boys jump. "Just stop, man" he repeated, fighting every inch of the fury slithering through his veins to remember who he was, especially when two sets of big brown eyes met his, scared and confused and desperate for someone to take care of them. "Ginny's not some kid. She knows what's going on and she knows what this all means."

Mike could feel his resolve draining, the small part of him that wished he could fix this vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. "I just want to help."

"I get that," Blip frowned, rubbing at his wedding band, "but, this means something different for us. Me, Evelyn, the kids, Ginny, we've got to come to terms with it in our own way. And she may want you around for that, but not so that you can pretend you get what it's gonna be like for us in this country from now on." He shook his head, going over to Evelyn and dropping a quick kiss on her forehead. "It's way past the boys' bedtimes, so I think we're gonna turn in for the night." Mike nodded, his grip on his keys tightening as he shuffled over to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" His eyes darted over his shoulder, watching as Evelyn looked over at Blip, her shoulders sagging underneath a weight he couldn't even begin to understand. "Or whenever, just...let me know."

Blip tried, he really tried, but his answering smile was more of a grimace and the tension working its way through his muscles only seem to tighten. "Yeah, man. And when you see Ginny, let her know we're here for her."

"Will do."

* * *

He went to her place first, although he couldn't remember the last time she'd actually slept there. When she wasn't there, he headed home, steeling himself for whatever he was about to find. Ginny didn't let her guard down, not around anyone she didn't trust, and even then, rarely enough that he never knew exactly what to do or what to expect. He was prepared for crying, screaming Ginny, a Ginny hellbent on starting and finishing a war with only her fists and an iron-clad will.

What he wasn't prepared for was to find her sitting on the floor of his room, their room, her face blank and her eyes glued to her laptop screen.

"I just want to thank everyone who supported me," said Trump, the cheer of the crowd tinny as it came from the computer speakers. "And my family, of course."

"Baker," Mike whispered, taking a hesitant step into the room. He'd been right about what he'd meet, just missed the when. Hurricane Ginny had blown through here if the mess of torn paper and clothes was any indication.

"I was there, in Pennsylvania," she murmured, her distant stare flicking him up to him for a moment before landing back on Trump and all those who'd supported him, "I thought I could make a difference, could help her make a difference."

"Ginny -"

"I thought," she stopped, her voice catching as she stood, "I thought that there was no way anyone could do this, could let stupidity and hatred win out and take over an entire country." She opened her fist, showing him the last bits of the sign she'd taken from the rally. "Stronger together," she mumbled, picking at the edges until it began to fall apart. "We were supposed to be stronger together," her shoulders shook with anger, with the tears the glistened in her eyes, in the revolution going through her mind, and soon she was grabbing at anything she could find. He stood to the side, watching as she destroyed more and more, a repeat of what most have happened after Pennsylvania was called, after their fellow countrymen had betrayed everything America stood for with one vote.

And he didn't move until she finally fell to her knees, her head buried in her hands and her body trembling with the strength of her cries.

"It's going to be okay," he murmured, pulling her down into his lap and holding her.

"You don't know that," she sobbed, his echo from only an hour before. And she was right, but he didn't let go, stroking a hand through her hair and letting her get it out.

"I don't," he admitted, "but there's one thing we're gonna need to have, Rookie. And that's hope."


End file.
